


Athrabeth Elrond Ah Arwen

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, Canon - Enhances original, Characters - Family Dynamics, Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Plot - Bittersweet, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - I reread often, Plot - Tear-jerker, Poetry, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Mythic/Poetic, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond is not yet reconciled to his daughter's choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Athrabeth Elrond Ah Arwen

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

_“Mell Adar a Naneth nín, darion an aderthad vín.”_ (1)

**Elrond na Arwen:**  
The waxing moon pulls strong on me tonight.  
Its tides roll through my blood; they crest and wane.  
Adrift here in my chair I feel its light  
Wash over me and flood my heart with pain.

My friends have sought to comfort me in vain,  
For mute am I and deaf to all their charms.  
Their pity runnels down like icy rain  
On stone no winter sunlight ever warms.

An age it seems since first you filled my arms;  
A child you were, though woman you are now.  
Beneath fair Ithil’s glow I named the stars  
And tender kisses rained upon your brow.

Upon your sleeping face as white as snow  
Bright Anor’s rays would seldom drop caress,  
For in your haste to feel her golden glow  
Upon your cheeks you rose at dawn to dress.

Your _Nan_ would comb your hair and plait each tress  
So like a grownup lady you could be  
When at first light of day you broke your fast  
With oranges while perched upon my knee.

Child, who will plait your hair when night is past  
And all your songs become one sad refrain,  
When moon and stars and sun have burned their last  
And nothing salves the grief or dulls the pain?

**Arwen na Elrond:**  
Like Lúthien the Fair a price I paid;  
For happiness I traded all I know.  
I gave my love to him; my choice is made.  
I cannot, will not, think upon it now.

**Elrond na Arwen:**  
Remember when you gathered blooms to press  
With _Nan_ , and set the best apart for me?  
All chores I cast aside; my cares seemed less  
When through my workroom door you burst in glee.

She might as well have sought to curb the sea,  
Poor _Nan_ , as tried to stay you from your course,  
For when you wanted to be near to me  
Your will could not be swayed by any force.

Undaunted, unencumbered by remorse,  
Though _Nana_ called you made no move to leave  
But crouched upon the Council Chamber floors  
Like some bedazzled bird beneath my sleeve.

Yet it was not to me that you would cleave  
When some imagined foe loomed in the night;  
In _Nana’s_ arms alone you could believe  
That even darkest dreams must yield to light.

Alas for _Nan_ , she was not always right;  
At times the greatest peril hides from sight.  
Though for her mother’s arms she cried in fright  
They struck her down, the monsters in the night. (2)

Child, who will shelter you from winter’s blight  
When night lies chill and silent on the land,  
When all that kept you safe has taken flight  
And _Nana_ is not there to hold your hand?

**Arwen na Elrond:**  
Like Lúthien the Fair a price I paid;  
I have my mother’s blessing -- this I know.  
Though parted we must be, my choice is made.  
I cannot, will not, think upon it now.

**Elrond na Arwen:**  
The day that Estel asked me for your hand,  
I turned him down with haughty words and cold.  
He held my gaze with eyes bright as a brand  
And challenged me with speech both wise and bold.

‘Be not like him of Doriath of old, (3)  
O you who raised me with a father’s love!  
A daughter’s heart cannot be bought or sold,  
And he who hoards may lose both cote and dove.’

Leaves drifted down upon us from above  
As silence filled the glade, and my heart bled.  
Hot anger and despair within me strove,  
And long I thought upon the things he said.

Then premonition filled me full of dread  
And pierced my righteous spirit with its dart.  
As Estel, courage failing, bowed his head,  
I felt the hand of Mandos grip my heart.

‘Though foster-son you be and Elven bred,  
O Estel, yet but Mortal Man I see.  
Until a wingèd crown adorns your head,  
My Arwen wife to you will never be!’

Child, who will hold you when farewells are said  
And at the tomb’s door he leaves you alone,  
When all you lingered for is cold and dead  
And you live on when all you loved is gone?

**Arwen na Elrond:**  
Like Lúthien the Fair a price I paid;  
On Cerin Amroth I gave him my vow.  
Though one day he must die, my choice is made.  
I cannot, will not, think upon it now.

**Elrond na Arwen:**  
When first he came to me a boy untried,  
I cut him deep, yet bright his spirit shone.  
He went into the wild in hope, in pride,  
To do this mighty task, to seek his throne.

When next he came he was a man full grown,  
A boy no more, but fair and tall and fell,  
Made strong and proud by deeds of far renown,  
Though naught of name nor sire the bards could tell.

When last he trod the vale of Rivendell,  
His brow and mouth were carven, stone-imbued.  
In him I saw a tale of years told well;  
In him I saw a lineage renewed.

But mortal lives are fleeting, sorrow-hued;  
Their hard-won glories fade as e’er they must,  
For even should his hopes all come to fruit,  
One day his world will crumble into dust.

His kingly helm and crown will fall to rust;  
The cloak of death will cover hearth and hall.  
To whom, then, will you turn; whom will you trust  
When gone are mother, father, brothers, all?

Child, who will comfort you when shadows fall  
And Círdan of the Havens sets his oar,  
When Elven ears no longer hear you call,  
Bereft, a mortal maid upon the shore?

**Arwen na Elrond:**  
Like Lúthien the Fair my doom is laid;  
For mortal life I traded all I know.  
There is no turning back; my choice is made.  
I love you well, but you must let me go.

**Elrond na Arwen:**  
How bitterly I rue that it were so!  
What brings you happiness brings me despair.  
Though queen you be of Elves and Men, I know  
That last farewell is more than I can bear!

In dreams I see you battered down with care,  
A tree that twists and moans in autumn’s chill.  
In dreams I see you turn from Anor’s glare  
And lay you down on Amroth’s tree-crowned hill.

The sweet grass there is watered by a rill  
That long ago filled lovers’ hearts with cheer,  
But on that golden bed, try as you will,  
No respite do you find from doubt and fear.

How sweet the dreams you dreamed ere dreams were dear!  
Your future shimmered bright, its purpose clear.  
But darkling are your paths, at last, and drear,  
And lonely are the roads that lead you here.

The sun retires; the moon and stars appear  
And linger on your hair, now silver-shot.  
A birch of many summers, fair but sere,  
Cut down at last by grief, you heed them not.

Child, who will comfort you when death is near  
And tears fall thick and fast in sorrow deep,  
When naught is left of all that you hold dear  
And none are there to sing you into sleep?

**Arwen na Elrond:**  
Though choices we may make and pledges keep,  
Our fates are wrought without vast Arda’s frame.  
May Mandos in his halls be moved to weep  
When with my final breath I speak your name!

**Elrond na Arwen:**  
On whom, my daughter, would you lay the blame?  
The cote is opened; out has flown the dove.  
On Mortal, Elf, or Vala, just the same,  
It falls to me to yield up all I love.

*******

**Footnotes:**  
(1) "Dear Father and Mother, I wait for our reunion."  
(2) Arwen's mother, Celebrían, was captured and tortured by Orcs while travelling to visit her mother, Galadriel, in far-away Lothlorien. Elrond was able to heal her in body but not in spirit. No longer desiring to remain in Middle Earth, she passed West, leaving her husband and children behind.  
(3) King Thingol of Doriath, great-great grandfather of Elrond, who, in his scorn for the mortal who sought his daughter's hand, named as Lúthien's bride price one of the Silmarils in the crown of the demon Morgoth, thereby setting in motion the events leading not only to the loss of his daughter and his kingdom, but also his life.  
  



End file.
